


Journey to the Past

by hellaskye



Category: Anastasia (1997), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anastasia AU, F/M, Gen, guys this is so fucking exciting i love this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellaskye/pseuds/hellaskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never cared for Stroganoff."<br/>"She said that like a Romanoff."</p><p>An Anastasia AU, because I mean really, isn't Natasha, Anastasia? Also, Clint is definitely Dmitri. </p><p>In which: Grand Duchess Natalya Romanova loses both her family and her memory at six years old, and ends up in an Orphanage, following the fall of the Romanov dynasty. 12 years later, Clint Barton is searching for the perfect girl to help him con the 10,000 ruble reward for finding Natalya and returning her to her grandmother. He plans on using his superior knowledge from his days at the palace to help him, and when he finds the girl who now goes as Natasha, with no memories of her past, but enough similar features to pass as a Romanov, he convinces her to travel to Paris with him. Along the way, however, Clint must reconcile himself with the possibility that just maybe, Natasha is the real Natalya Romanov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December, 1907

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS. I'm back and hella excited. Please please leave comments and kudos if you enjoy. Believe it or not, they really do inspire me to get chapters up sooner. 
> 
> This should be partially credited to @ItsEvelynCee on twitter, because she's shown such great enthusiasm for this that it helped me keep going. Thanks, love. 
> 
> Now, onward! Hope you enjoy.

“Papa, it’s so pretty!” Six-year-old Natalya Romanova giggled as Tsar Nicholas Romanov II spun her around in the middle of the ballroom. The walls were awash with light from the diamond chandeliers, displaying the intricately patterned wallpaper that rose high into the night sky. The room was filled with pretty women, dressed to the nines in elegant dresses, and men who were suited up in suits made of the finest materials. It was Natalya’s birthday, and it seemed like all of St. Petersburg was there to celebrate on the cold December night.

To the side, Nat could see her brother, Alexei, standing with their sister, Maria, and her namesake, and their grandmother, Maria Feodorovna. Their older sisters, Olga and Tanya were dancing together close by, and Nat saw her mother, keeping a watchful eye on the girls nearby. It was a picture perfect moment, and Natalya let her head rest on her father’s shoulder and he spun them around. 

The song ended, and Nikolai put his youngest daughter down. Nat ran to her grandmother with a smile. Alexei and Maria left to go tug on their father’s sleeve, and the elder Maria took her granddaughter's face in her hands.

“Natashenka,” Maria smiled, taking the picture Natalya held out to her with pride. “It’s beautiful,  _ malyutka _ .” 

“ _ Spasibo _ ,” Nat curtseyed with a giggle. The smile faded as she rose. “Oh, Grandmama, do you have to go back to Paris? Please stay here, in St. Petersburg.”

“Natashenka,” Maria said firmly, giving her a kiss on her forehead. “You know I do. But, I have something for you.”

She reached in her bag and drew out a small, circular container, made of glittering gold and inlaid jewels. Maria held it out in her palm, and Natalya gasped. 

“For me?” Nat asked, taking it gently. “Is it a jewelry box?”

Behind Maria’s seat, there was a commotion as one of the kitchen boys, Clint, was caught sneaking out to watch the festivities. But Natalya’s eyes were glued to her grandmother as Maria took a necklace and inserted it into the beautiful box. She twisted it, and it began to play a familiar tune as it opened. 

“It plays our lullaby!” 

“You can play it at night, before you go to sleep, and pretend it’s me singing,” Maria smiled. “ _ On the wind, ‘cross the sea, hear this song and remember.” _

Natalya giggled quietly and joined in, her soft, sweet voice soaring above that of her grandmother.

“ _ Soon you’ll be, home with me, once upon a december” _

“Read what it says,” Maria urged, holding the necklace out to her granddaughter. Natalya took it and held it up to her face, face scrunching as she attempted to read the words. 

“To-together in Paris,” Natalya read, gasping as the meaning sunk in. “Really? Oh Grandmama!” 

She threw her arms around the woman, grinning from ear to ear, but the sound of the great doors opening drew them apart. Both girls’ smiles faded, and Maria rose, putting a protective hand on Nat’s shoulder as she saw who it was. 

Rasputin. 

Rasputin had been the Romanov’s most trusted confidant once. He had been a man of the church, an advisor to Nikolai, and a sort of godfather to the girls. Over time, Nikolai had granted him riches; a beautiful mansion to live in, and a position of power in the Romanov Dynasty. But alas, Rasputin had been one of  _ those  _ guys; one of the greedy ones. And once he’d tasted power, he would stop at nothing to become the  _ most  _ powerful. He even was willing to harm the family that had called him a friend, so Nikolai banished him from St. Petersburg, and threatened to expand his exile to all of Russia, if he didn’t end his quest. 

Glass shattered as Rasputin swept through the crowds, parting the fear-filled people. Nikolai had stepped up to the steps of the ballroom, standing above the room in all his authority. Rasputin squared up to him, looking gaunt and sickly, though his eyes were lit with a psychedelic sort of fire. 

“How dare you return to the palace?” Nikolai hissed, his white uniform gleaming in the moonlight of the shattered glass. The medals pinned to his lapel shimmered as if to remind Rasputin that he was facing the celebrated tsar of Russia, but it mattered not to the villain. 

“Is that how you speak to your old confidante?” Rasputin grinned manically, a evil reliquary swinging from his belt in a deadly rhythm. Maria’s grip on Nat’s shoulder tightened, and she drew the girl even closer to her. 

“You were banned from St. Petersburg,” Nikolai reminded him, jaw clenched. Rasputin just laughed, but expression turned dark. 

“Ah, yes. You should not have crossed the great Rasputin, Nikolai,” Rasputin clucked, now clutching the reliquary. “See, I have great power now. The spirits have chosen  _ me _ . And with the power they granted me, I will become the ruler of Russia, but one thing stands in my way.” 

The room was deathly quiet, and it seemed everyone held their breath. Natalya was trembling, and Alexei had silent tears streaming down his face. The lights in the room had darkened or gone out completely, and the green light of the reliquary made everything haunting and gaunt.

“Yes, Nikolai, my old friend. The Romanovs are the last thing I must take care of. And so, hear me now. Within the week, the Romanov line will be no more, and Rasputin will be the great tsar. Starting with  _ you _ .”

Rasputin raised the reliquary and the green light streamed out of it, hitting Nikolai square in the chest. He crumpled on the dais, and the room dissolved in chaos. Maria turned and herded Natalya towards the back of the palace. There was a door there, and if they could make it out that way, they would probably make it to the train. Briefly, she saw Alexandra running with the rest of the children, Tanya and Olga helping their mother with their siblings. Maria made eye contact with the Empress, and a mutual understanding passed between the two women. Alexandra headed down one hall, and Maria went down the other. At least  _ one  _ Romanov would survive this night, and that was decided. 

As they rushed through the throngs of people hoping to escape Rasputin’s spirit cohorts, Natalya touched her necklace and stopped. Maria tugged on the girl’s arm in an attempt to keep her moving, but to no avail. 

“My music box!” Nat cried, turning back the way they’d come, and turning down the hallway that led to the room she shared with her sister. Maria followed the girl, calling her back and marveling at the priorities of young girls. Natalya found the box, and began to exit the room, but the sound of Bolshevik soldiers storming the palace stopped the girl and she turned, wide-eyed, to her grandmother. 

“This way!” A young kitchen boy, Clint, hissed, pushing a panel of the wall to reveal a stairwell. “Through the servant’s quarters, hurry!” He pushed Natalya through it, and Maria saw the music box drop, once again, through the girl’s fingers, but this time, she held her grip and pulled Natalya along. As the panel closed again, Maria could hear the soldiers bursting into the room and questioning the boy, and she hoped he lived through the night. The Bolshevik were not known for their kindness towards children. 

The thought propelled Maria faster, and they reached the end of the tunnel and found themselves at a door. Maria opened it, and the duo stepped into the snow. A high, familiar scream stopped them in their tracks, and Natalya let out a whimper. Maria’s lips moved in a silent prayer as she pulled Natalya along again. If the Bolshevik had found Alexei and the others, that meant they’d be looking for Natalya next. 

Tears for her family now froze to Natalya’s face as they ran quietly, and Maria unwrapped her scarf from her neck and tied it around Natalya’s neck. The outer gate was in view when Natalya screamed and fell, and Maria turned to see Rasputin clinging to the girl’s leg. 

“Hello  _ Natashenka _ ,” Rasputin said sweetly to the screaming girl. “Do you remember me,  _ malyutka _ ?” 

As Maria attempted to tug the girl out of Rasputin’s grasp, there was a crack. Maria looked down instinctively and realized she was standing on the snow-covered bank of the high moat around the palace. A glance at Rasputin’s footing confirmed that  _ he  _ was standing on the frozen moat. Another cracking sound, and Maria sent up a prayer of gratitude for the unusual warm winter they’d been having. The moat cracked completely, and Rasputin fell, whining like every villain knows how. Maria quickly picked up the girl, and they ran, out of the gate and towards the near-by train. With his new ‘spirit-friends’, who knew how long it was until Rasputin re-emerged. 

They reached the station just as a train was leaving, and Maria hopped on, holding her hand out for Natalya to pull her up. But a rush of desperate people hoping to leave the city trampled the girl, and Maria’s desperate cries for her granddaughter did nothing to stop the train. As the train sped away, a helplessness overwhelmed Maria, and she began to cry for her family, the Romanov line, that was as good as dead.


	2. February, 1919

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha leaves the orphanage, 12 years later, still with no memories of her past, and no family to claim her. Her only clue is the necklace around her neck that say _Together in Paris_ , and Natasha dreams of travelling to Paris to find them. All she's needs is travel papers, and she's pointed to the local con man...
> 
> Clint, a palace boy who became a resourceful con man after the Revolution, and his friend and mentor, Phil, who used to be a palace guard, are planning to collect the Grand Empress' 10,000 ruble award. Now, all they're missing is a Natalya, willing or not, to play the part...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two!!! If you enjoy, take a sec to let me know, please! This whole thing was actually written bc I got a comment requesting another chapter, and I churned out all 2600 words in a few hours. 
> 
> Some of the dialogue comes straight from the movie, as well as some of the characters from Marvel, and I don't own them, obviously.

**12 years later.**

Natasha sighed happily as she closed her suitcase and looked around the small, dark, room that had been her home for as long as she had remembered. 12 years, Comrade Yakov told her. She’d been found in St. Petersburg, penniless, parentless and memory less. Natasha wasn’t sorry to be leaving, if she were honest. There was, of course, a small fondness she carried for the place that had been her home for so long, but there was a whole world out there for the taking, and all she’d known was the dingy orphanage, and the wood surrounding it. Plus, _Paris_ was out there, Natasha reflected, rubbing the pendant around her neck. _Together in Paris_. It just _had_ to mean something. Her family had to be out there somewhere, searching for her, and waiting for her with love and warmth - the thought was cut off as Comrade Constantine flung the door open and grabbed her suitcase.

“Time to go, _немного красный_ _,_ ” he said gruffly, using the nickname she’d earned as a child, both for her hair and pride. ‘Little Red’ was one of the only personal things Natasha had received at the orphanage, and it made her smile as she followed him down the stairs. He handed her trunk to Comrade Yakov, gave her a curt but gentle nod, and returned inside. Natasha gave him a small smile and followed her out, tuning out the lecture that she’d heard non-stop for the last 12 years.

“-ingrateful, with your head in the clouds. Dreaming doesn’t get work done, you know. And then with your _pride_ , that temper that seems to come straight from the hair-” Natasha’s hands automatically went to her shoulder length locks, playing with them self-consciously. “-and yet I _still_ managed to find you a job at the fish factory.”

“The _fish factory_ ?” Natasha repeated, looking at the older woman with barely concealed horror. The fish factory was cold, and dangerous work, and it wasn’t in St. Petersburg, which was where Natasha had always _thought_ she would go after she left the orphanage. St. Petersburg was one step closer to Paris, and Paris was where she would find her family. As if she could tell what Natasha was thinking, Yakov tutted disapprovingly.

“Natasha, with your head in the clouds. You are lucky I found you a job. Many women do less for their charges when they turn eighteen, you know,” she shook her head disappointedly, and Natasha sighed.

“I _know_ , it’s just-” she shrugged and turned to the woman, a girlish sparkle still in her eye. “I’d always thought I’d go to St. Petersburg. And from St. Petersburg I’d-”

“Go to _Paris_ , and find your _family_?” Yakov completed, not unkindly. “Natasha, you are too old for childish dreams, now. You have to face the real world. Take the left road, go to the fish factory and ask them nicely if they can find you a place to stay until you make enough money to buy a room somewhere.”

Natasha nodded glumly, grabbing her case from the older woman and stepping out to the crossroad in front of the orphanage, waiting until she was no longer in view of the building before setting her case down in front of the post and gazing at the two signs. If she went left, she’d be on the long, boring road to Petergof, where she could begin a quiet life, canning fish with freezing hands and looking for a husband to marry. But oh, if she went left, she’d be on a journey to St. Petersburg, with it’s bustling city, and transports out of Russia. She had hardly any money, no friends to rely on, and nothing, but the scarce contents of the small trunk she carried, to sell. _Show me a sign_ , Natasha prayed, staring at the signpost desperately. She stood there for what seemed like hours, and finally stepped back with a sigh, grabbing her suitcase and turning towards the road to Petergof. But before she could take a step, a muffled _meow_ stopped her in her tracks.

Natasha followed the noises down the other road, to a small black kitten, huddled behind a tree in the freezing snow. Natasha hesitated, then picked up the small animal, cuddling it to her coat in an attempt to warm it. “You know, Comrade Yakov always insisted that black cats were bad luck,” Natasha commented softly, holding the cat to her eyes. It mewed softly, and Natasha smiled, looking back to the sign post. “But  _I_ think you’re my sign. They say I’m bad luck too, you know. The luckless redhead.” She bit her lip and planted a gentle kiss on the kitten’s head. “I’m gonna call you _Liho_. Fate.” She tucked the kitten into the pocket of her worn jacket, grabbed her suitcase, and set off for St. Petersburg with a spring in her step.

 

* * *

 

By the time Natasha reached the city, her shoes had a few new wears in them, her socks were soaked through, and she ached all over, her body longing for a bed to sleep in. Liho was dry now, at least. She slept in Natasha’s coat pocket as Natasha headed straight for the train station, getting in line to buy a ticket to Paris immediately. She got up to the window, and eager smile on her face.

“One ticket to Paris, please!”

The man fixed her with a bored, but impatient stare, gesturing at her aggressively. “You have your papers?”

“My papers?” Natasha furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. What more did she need?

“No papers, no exit. Next!”

Natasha was shoved aside by a sandy haired boy, who was followed by an older man, and a puppy. By the time she turned back to the window, the line had moved along, and and so she turned the other way, shoulders slumped in defeat. The tip of Liho’s nose poked out of her coat, and she gave a soft, questioning _mew?_ Natasha sighed.

“I don’t know, Liho. I need some sort of papers to get a ticket, and I don’t have any,” Natasha pulled the cat out of her pocket and held it up to eye level with a sad pout. A tug on her sleeve revealed an old woman beckoning to her, and so Natasha leaned down to listen.

“Go to the old Romanov palace, and look for Clint. He and his mentor, Phillip, are masters of forged papers. That’s where I got mine! But don’t tell them I sent you,” The old woman held up a set of papers and a train ticket. Natasha eyed the woman warily, but asked for directions to the palace anyway. When she made it to the end of the old woman’s instructions, she found herself standing at the gates to an abandoned palace.

“ _Wow_ ,” Natasha breathed, absently petting the cat on her shoulder. It was a _grand_ structure, once very beautiful. Natasha could almost see it in her mind’s eye; the designs that the now peeling paint had created, the beautiful chandelier that the shattered glass in the middle of the big hall used to be. “I know this place,” Natasha murmured, a finger trailing over a beautiful vase sitting on a dusty table. An ornate painting hung above the vase, and the longer Natasha looked at it, the more it seemed to come alive. It was a family, dressed so elegantly and sitting properly. The girl in the middle was what really drew Natasha closer - she had the same bright hair and impish smile. The people, so vaguely featured in the art, were _alive_ and _important_ in Natasha’s mind, and she stared at it, so entranced that she didn’t notice the puppy that trotted into the room until it gave an excited _huf_.

Liho let out an anxious vocalization, the sound echoing through the empty hall. “ _Ow,_ Liho!” Natasha reprimanded, rubbing her shoulder and attempting to call the cat back. Across the hall from her, footsteps pounded the stairs, and Natasha panicked. She wasn’t supposed to be here, the boarded up door made her sure of that. Hissing to Liho, Natasha took off across the elegant hall, making it up the stairs before a voice stopped her. She turned nervously, and saw a familiar looking, sandy-haired man, followed by an older man. A glance at the puppy that was now panting eagerly at Natasha and Liho jogged her memory - he’d brushed by her at the train station this morning! Before she could say anything, however, his voice rang out.

“Now, how did you get in...here?”

He was staring at her with wide eyes, and she shifted uncomfortably, shrugging. His companion opened his mouth but the man shushed him, murmuring something and gesturing discreetly to the painting behind her.

“Are you Clint?” she asked, her voice echoing around the room. It made her sound commanding, and regal - Natasha was glad. It covered up the nerves that shook her voice.

“Perhaps; that all depends on who’s looking for him,” he said, coming up a few stairs and tilting his head. Natasha felt it safe to assume it was indeed him, and then man with him would then be Phil, and so she continued.

“My name is Natasha, I’m looking for travel papers,” she leaned forward and continued in a stage whisper. “They say that you’re the man to see, but I can’t tell you _who_ told me - hey! What are you doing, circling me? What, were you a vulture in another life?”

As she had been talking, Clint had begun to wander around her, eyeing her thoughtfully, and she turned to face him crossly, hands settling on her hips.

“I’m sorry Nat,” he apologized absently, gesturing to his friend to join him on the stairs urgently.

“-It’s _Natasha_ ,” she corrected him curtly, poking him for emphasis. He repeated the correct name, and she parroted it back, poking him again. "Na-tash-a."

“Sorry, Natasha. It’s just - you look an _awful_ lot like that-” he paused and looked at her. “Uh, actually, never mind. You said something about...travel papers?”  

“Yes,” Natasha confirmed, pacing and taking a breath. “Yes, I’d- I’d like to go to Paris.”

“You’d like to go to Paris?” he repeated, turning to his companion with barely veiled excitement. “Now, uh - lemme ask you something, _Natasha_ , was it? Is there a last name that goes with that?

“Well, actually; this is gonna sound crazy, but I don’t know my last name,” Natasha admitted. “I was found wandering around when I was six years old.”

“And uh, before that?” Clint asked eagerly. “Before that, before you were-”

“Look, _I know_ that it’s strange, but I don’t remember,” Natasha cut him off, fiddling with her necklace. “I have very few memories of my past.”

“Hmm, that’s...perfect,” Clint said quietly, but Natasha wasn’t listening.

“Well, I do have one clue, however, and that is Paris.”

“Paris,” Clint repeated, crossing his arms. “Right.”

“Right,” Natasha confirmed, finally looking up from her necklace. “So, can you two help me or not?”

“Uh well, sure would like to. In fact, oddly enough, we’re going to Paris ourselves. I’ve got three tickets here, but the third one is for the her. _Natalya,_ ” he moved the ticket out of here reach and pointed to the painting that had snared Natasha’s attention earlier, eyeing her carefully.

“We are going to reunite the Grand Empress with her granddaughter,” Phil informed her as they herded her upstairs.

“You do kinda resemble her,” Clint interjected.

“The same blue eyes,” Phil agreed

“The Romanov eyes!”

“And Nikolas’ smile-”

“Alexandra’s chin.”

“And _look_ , she even has the grandmother’s hands,” Phil pointed out, holding her hand up. Clint nodded.

“The same _age,_ the same physical _type-”_

“Are you two trying to tell me that you think _I’m_ Natalya?” Natasha laughed derisively. Clint shrugged.

“All I’m trying to tell you is I’ve seen thousands of girls, all over the country, and not _one_ of them, looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you- I mean, look at the portrait!”

He gestured to the painting that they were now standing under, but Natasha caught his arm with an eyeroll.

“I knew _you_ were crazy from the beginning, but now I think you are _both_ mad,” she turned to send Phil a glare as well, walking away.

“ _Why_? You don’t remember what happened to you,” Clint pointed out, darting in front of her.

“No one knows what happened to her,” Phil added, stepping up to join them.

“You’re looking for your family, in Paris.”

“And her _only_ family is in - Paris!”

“Have you ever thought about the possibility?” Clint asked, guiding her back to the painting with a raised eyebrow.

“That _I_ could be royalty?” Natasha breathed, staring up at it, Phil and Clint on either side of her. They both hummed and agreement. “Well, I don’t know. It’s kinda hard to think of yourself as a duchess when you’re sleeping on a damp floor.”

Liho hissed, and Clint withdrew his hand from Natasha’s shoulder hurriedly, but she hardly noticed, staring up at the painting once more.

“But sure, yeah. I guess every lonely girl would hope she’s a princess,” Natasha shrugged, looking at the little redhead that smiled so familiarly. _Could_ it be her?

“And somewhere, one little girl _is_ ,” Phil told her with a warm smile. “After all, the name _Natalya_ means -”

“Really wish we could help,” Clint cut in, pulling at Phil and giving him a look. “But the third ticket _is_ for the Grand Duchess Natalya.”

He walked away with Phil, but Natasha sighed and lingered at the painting, studying it. She vaguely heard Clint’s _good luck_ , and his murmurings to Phil as they walked away, but her attention didn’t waver from the art. They were right, maybe. She did look like the girl in the painting. And she _didn’t_ know what had happened to her - could it be that she was the long lost Romanov, the last of the line? That was _impossible_ , she was just an orphan girl, separated from her family during the revolution. But, what if-? Liho gave an urgent _meow_ , and Natasha looked down at her, taking a deep breath.

“Clint!” Natasha called, running down the stairs after him. He kept walking, and Natasha followed. “Clint, _wait_!”

“Oh, did you call me?” he asked casually, turning around.

“If _I_ don’t remember who I am, then who’s to say I’m not a princess, or a duchess or whatever she is, right?” Natasha pointed out breathlessly.

“Mhm, go on,” Clint shrugged, looking at her with interest.

“ _Yeah_ , and if I’m _not_ Natalya, then the Empress will surely know, and it’s all just an honest mistake!”

“Sounds plausible,” Clint agreed.

“But if you _are_ the princess, then you’ll finally know who you are and get your family back!” Phil pointed out excitedly.

“Mm, he’s right,” Clint nodded, holding a hand out. Natasha hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow. “Either way, it gets you to Paris.”

Natasha nodded and took his hand, squeezing it excitedly as they shook. He let out an _ow_ , and looked her over cautiously, before leading the way out.

“You’re not bringing that cat,” he insisted.

“Liho? Of course I am,” Natasha shook her head dismissively.

“It hates me,” Clint complained, whistling to his dog, who trotted up eagerly.

“ _Maybe_ , if you stopped calling her an ‘it’, she’d like you better,” Natasha pointed out with a glare.

The bickering continued out the door and into the streets, but inside the palace, a gargoyle came to life with a green, swirling spirit in its eyes, and it flew into the night to report the rumors of ' _Romanov, Romanov'_ to its master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter here](https://www.twitter.com/gunsandarrows)   
>  [tumblr here](http://www.katebxshops.tumblr.com)
> 
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> love me at these links!! I love to chat :)

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter here](https://www.twitter.com/gunsandarrows)   
>  [tumblr here](http://www.katebxshops.tumblr.com)


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